


Interlude

by The_North_Star



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, I'm so tired, M/M, Tinker's mentioned, and it's Runaan's b-day tomorrow so yeah, but this particular wedding scene won't leave me, here you go, so are a lot of other characters, this isn't edited and I don't know if I'll be able to edit it, what else to put in the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:53:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18856066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_North_Star/pseuds/The_North_Star
Summary: A forest wedding, or at least one moment of it. The long-awaited but unexpected day has arrived, and two elves have a moment before one is to give the other away.(Runaan/Tinker is the pairing, but Runaan and Rayla have a family moment. sorry this isn't better, I'm tired)





	Interlude

”There.”

Rayla’s skin beneath his painted fingertips is the anchor to reality in this moment. A reminder that this wasn’t just a dream. 

This was happening. 

Is happening. 

He is finally marrying his beloved, and, against all odds, both he and Rayla survived and are sharing this moment together. 

“I hope I did the braids alright.” 

She looks to each side, and the movement of her head streaks the purple-blue paint across her right cheek.  
The face paint of ceremonies in Moonshadow culture is usually a light blue the same color as a clear summer sky. But the Halfling people they’ve taken shelter with—and befriended, thanks to his beloved tinker—don’t have the teardrop-shaped flowers used for the special paint. 

They make do with a darker blue dye the Halflings call ‘indigo’, crushed in hot water and a soft clay to make the paint. It still works and matches the purple of Rayla’s eyes and tattoos. 

He reaches out and uses an unstained knuckle to wipe away the excess paint. What’s left are the swirls supposedly worn during more joyous events, like naming of children and engagements.  
Hers are simpler than his own; just three spirals on each cheek, interlocked in triangles, a triple-oval nested right in the middle of her forehead, and a crescent rod above each brow. 

His are elaborate, a version of her own paint. Instead of a triple oval in his forehead, painted there is a lovers knot. It rests in a sun disc pierced with two crossed spears, one for him and one for his beloved, and spears to represent his service to Xadia as a warrior. 

The spirals are dispersed and plentiful, running from below the points of his original facial markings down to his collarbones. The crescent rods, to represent his family, above each of his brows are supported by braided markings that stem from his temples, symbolic of the magic that ties everything together. 

“I felt them; they felt alright. You did well.” 

“Won’t they be covered by the hood?” 

“Only until the end of the ceremony, where we kiss and seal the marriage contact.” 

“And then the ‘unveiling’.” 

She looks at him, eyes sparkling. She looks so different now, in the simple dark blue shift, billowing green pants and polished leather slippers. The crown of purple flowers hiding the place her hair and forehead touch, a perfect compliment to the silver circlet gracing her forehead.  
Her hair is braided as well, but only one fishtail style braid down the back of her head. Not two large braids, as typically worn by taken Moonshadow elves. 

“What are you feeling? Are you excited? Nervous?” 

He glances down at the silver bracelets and rings adorning him. Three rings; one for him, another for his beloved, and the last for Rayla. On each hand. The bracelets are connected by delicate chains to bands higher up on his arms, in the same area as the bindings tied on that fateful mission.  
All shining and beautiful, done by the hands of his favorite tinker. Stored in the dirt then nearly traded away because his poor beloved feared he was dead. 

But no one is dead. No one stayed dead. Not him, not Rayla, not the Princes or His Highness Azymondias, not the others, not even the King he killed, apparently.  
Everything was a mess, chaotic and nonstop. Everything leading up to this moment was a rush, a blur, like leaves whipped in the winds of a storm. 

How should he feel? He supposes he should be excited, and there is no longer any doubt. It still feels like a dream. 

But he reaches out, aware of the rustle of the gauzy sleeve against his skin. This is real. 

As real as the marriage cord in Rayla’s lap and as real as her hands clasped around it. 

“I don’t know what exactly I feel. Relieved? Glad? Whatever it is, it is a good feeling.” 

“You deserve that, Runaan.” 

She squeezes his hand, and something deep within him bursts open. 

He had done little as of late to deserve her forgiveness and joy. By the gods, he threatened to kill her under the last full moon they had been together. Being trapped in a coin, and then the chaos from being freed to being...here...had messed with his internal calendar. How many full moons had passed before this oncoming night? 

And then....arguing with her. Yelling at her. Arguing with his beloved. Angry at her, frustrated at the lack of his arm, disappointed and disgusted at his own awful behavior to the elves that only ever cared for him and were only ever good to him. 

But she had still been the better elf despite her short years, still held her head up, still followed what she believed was right. She stayed when he apologized to her, embraced him first, even talked to his beloved on his behalf. How far she had come from the impulsive yet strong-willed little girl picking up sticks and using them as swords.

Could he ever fully return her forgiveness?

He tries not to think upon it as the partition shielding them from the rest of the wedding participants is slightly parted. 

Callum, the Katolis Duke, stepson of his last target. For the wedding he’s dressed in a deep blue tunic the same color as Rayla's shift, belted with a red sash.

“Psst. Rayla, Runaan. Everyone’s getting ready to stand.” 

"Thanks, Callum."

A small smile and nod towards her, and a polite nod to him, and he disappears.

"Go on", he tells Rayla. "You'll need to be in the front, to present the cord."

But she doesn't leave, merely smooths her hands down her clothes, a stray silver bracelet snagging on the fabric of her pants. She quickly frees it, then holds her hand out to him.

"I'll get there, don't worry."

He draws the hood of the deep blue wedding cloak over his head. "What...what are you up to?"

"You shouldn't go down the aisle alone, Runaan."

"Rayla, we've talked about this several times", he murmurs, nearly forgetting that this is not a lecture or a training area and his voice shouldn't be so harsh. "I have no known family. No parents of my own. I've always known that if I were to ever marry, that I would have no one to lead me to my truelove, and that I'd go down the aisle alone. You really shouldn't feel anything, I certainly don't.  
I am more than happy to have found a love worthy of marriage, and to see him and be with him, especially after all I've been through."

With the hood obstructing his face, he can only see the ground halfway down, and he takes a moment to lift his head so he can see Rayla's face soften.

"And besides...you don't have to be kind to me to this extent. Not after everything I've done, everything I've said, to you. Presenting the marriage cord and being present is more than enough."

"Yes, but you can't see in front of you with that hood, no thanks to the absolutely stupid tradition of brides covering their faces and whatnot, so let me help you. You owe me, in a way."

He is still silent and unmoving, due to indecision and unworthiness in equal parts.

So is she. 

Her hand still hovers. 

An invitation. A peace offering. One he doesn't deserve, and yet...

"Runaan, you are every bit family to me as I am to you."

He barely registers the opening of the partition, as soft, white lights wash over her rosy face and honest eyes. 

"And everyone should have someone."

"You're right."

His reply is free of hesitation, free of doubt. That is truth, and one he took a lifetime to learn and accept.

She is patient yet excited as he slowly but surely places his flesh-and-blood hand in hers.

He lowers his head to ensure the hood covers his face as both of them turn to face the partygoers, quiet but just as ecstatic as Rayla. The aisle, or what he can see of it, is already graced with white flower petals.

"Now, lead me to my husband."

She squeezes his hand and walks.

Up above, the sun and moon look upon the forest, sharing the same starlit sky.


End file.
